We talked through the cocktail hour and I found myself relaxing, despite the circumstances. Julian was easy to talk to, asking questions that showed genuine interest rather than polite small talk.
He wanted to know about my favorite desserts to make, about the challenges of working in a professional kitchen, about why I’d chosen pastry over other culinary paths. I asked him about his work, about the satisfaction of helping companies reduce their environmental impact, about the frustrations of dealing with clients who wanted change but weren’t willing to do the hard work to achieve it.
He spoke passionately about renewable energy, about creating systems that could sustain future generations, and I found myself captivated by his enthusiasm.
“You really believe in what you do,” I observed, cutting into a bite-sized tart.
“Is that so surprising?”
“Most people at my sister’s wedding seem more interested in appearing successful than actually being passionate about anything.”
Julian’s expression shifted, something calculating entering his eyes.
“You notice a lot for someone who was sitting behind a pillar.”
“When you’re invisible, you learn to watch people. It’s amazing what you see when no one knows you’re looking.”
A server approached to announce that dinner was being served in the main ballroom. Guests began flowing toward the entrance, and Julian stood, offering his hand.
“Ready to see if your seating assignment for dinner is any better?”
It wasn’t.
The reception hall was gorgeous, decorated with what must have been thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers and lighting. Long tables were arranged in a U-shape with the head table elevated slightly on a platform where Victoria and Gregory would sit with their wedding party. Place cards directed guests to their assigned seats.
I found my name at a table in the far corner, positioned so that I’d need to crane my neck awkwardly to see the head table. The chairs around me were empty, suggesting I’d been placed with the overflow guests, the people who had to be invited but didn’t quite fit anywhere else.
Julian appeared at my elbow, his own place card in hand.
“Interesting. I’m at the opposite end of the room, almost like someone wanted to make sure the unimportant guests were spread out so we wouldn’t cluster and make the seating chart look unbalanced.”
“This is ridiculous,” I snapped. The words came out sharper than I intended, frustration finally breaking through my careful composure. “I’m her sister, her only sibling, and she’s treating me like I’m some distant acquaintance she felt obligated to invite.”
“You know what? Screw the seating chart.”
Julian plucked my place card from the table and pocketed it along with his own.
“Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
“Improvising. Just follow my lead and pretend you’re my date.”
Before I could protest, he guided me toward a table much closer to the head table, one clearly designated for important guests. He pulled out a chair for me, his hand warm on my back as I sat, and then settled into the seat beside me with the confidence of someone who belonged exactly where he was.
“Julian, we can’t just—”
“We can. And we did. If anyone asks, there was a mix-up with the seating assignments and we’re fixing it ourselves. Trust me.”
The table filled quickly with guests who seemed to know each other well. They were Gregory’s business associates, I gathered from their conversation—people from the pharmaceutical industry who spoke in acronyms and trade terms I didn’t understand.
They greeted Julian with familiarity, calling him by name, and he responded with easy confidence that suggested he knew exactly who they were.
A woman named Patricia, who introduced herself as the vice president of operations at Bennett Health Solutions, smiled warmly at me.
“And you must be Julian’s girlfriend. He’s been keeping you a secret.”
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